Keeper of the Eye (The Eye of the Sword Book 1) Read Online Free

breaths.
    Son of the garrison commander, Garen Baldwin never missed an opportunity to spar. The adrenaline, the excitement, the unpredictable nature of sparring was an elixir to him. He claimed a well-made sword in his hand made him feel complete.
    “Only with you, my friend. You’ve had me sparring every day this week.” Michael smiled wryly. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure out your newest bag of tricks?”
    “Yeah, but not so soon.” Garen climbed to his feet. “The way you turned Separating the Willows on me—”
    “Is that what you named that attempt to disarm me?”
    “Yeah,” Garen replied, a little less confident.
    “Not a bad name I suppose, but anyone with quick wrists could stop it. Your rhythm is put off by—”
    “No one at the garrison has.”
    “Well, I’m not from the garrison, now am I?” Michael clamped his mouth shut regretting his words.
    “No,” Garen paused, raking his fingers through his brown hair, “but you should be.”
    Michael gritted his teeth. Bad enough the topic came up regularly but this time he had set himself up. He pointed his practice sword at Garen. “You want to go another round or do we stop this nonsense about me being a soldier?”
    “It isn’t nonsense, Michael. I can beat every man at the garrison except Stren and my dad. And you beat me almost half the time.”
    Michael shot him a knowing look.
    Garen raised his hands in resignation, “Okay, more than half the time. Such skill belongs in the military. You have the gift, Michael.”
    “The gift,” Michael snorted. “Garen, we’ve been sparring since we were old enough to whack each other with sticks. My abilities got better as yours did. That’s all.” He was tired of having to defend his desire to stay out of the military. Garen might be his best friend, but sometimes his head was thicker than an oak tree.
    Garen missed the hint or refused to catch it. He held up his fingers counting each point. “You can sense doubt and hesitation better than anyone I know. You only need to see sword forms once to do them perfectly. You’re quick to learn a person’s strengths and weaknesses, and, if that’s not enough, you know exactly how and when to use it all against him. That only comes with years of experience, if ever, but you do it naturally.”
    Michael sighed. “You see that tree over there?”
    “Yeah,” Garen replied uncertainly. “What does that have to do with—”
    “What do you see?”
    Garen shrugged, “An oak tree.”
    “Actually, it’s a white oak,” Michael corrected. “I see a chest with a family crest chiseled into the lid and a matching table, simple in design, but with finely turned legs to give it an elegant touch, and four matching chairs to complete the set.”
    “Busy tree,” Garen quipped. “What the blazes does furniture have to do with sparring?”
    Michael gritted his teeth. Hickory! His head is as dense as hickory! “When we face off I try to look ahead, to predict where you’re going in the dance. Sometimes I play along. Sometimes I try to make you play into my hands like I did today. With each form, I envision the outcome just as I envision that tree. There’s no special gift involved, Garen, just me using a carpenter’s eye in a different way.”
    Garen eyed Michael suspiciously for a moment then burst into laughter. “That’s absurd! You’re telling me you can predict what I’m gonna do?”
    Michael shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes.”
    “Sometimes! How can you possibly predict swordplay?”
    “I know you. I know your tactics, how you favor certain forms and tale-tale signs that give away what you’re about to do. I use that knowledge to my advantage.”
    Garen grunted derisively. “A sword fight’s unpredictable. It’s action and reaction, skill and reflexes. You have no idea what’s coming before...” Garen’s voice trailed off, lost in thought.
    “That is exactly what I’m talking about!” Garen blurted out. “Dad tried explaining the